Nightmare
by hippievamp
Summary: Dean is always haunted by nightmares, but lately they've been worse than usual. Despite drinking himself to sleep every night, he can't get away from them, and Sam is beginning to notice that something's going on. Eventually the two of them start to wonder if that something might be supernatural. Rated T for angst, language, suggestive scenes. I don't own Supernatural.
1. Chapter 1

Dean stumbled into the hotel room, dropped his bags on the floor and fell onto the bed, still in his jacket and boots. He barely heard Sam come in and close the door behind him.

"You just gonna stay there?" he asked Dean, who grunted and closed his eyes.

"I was thinking about ordering pizza," Sam continues.

"Sleep," was all Dean replied with, his voice muffled by his leather sleeve. Sam chuckled.

"You're slipping, Dean. Not usually this tired after a ghost hunt."

Dean didn't bother to defend himself. Sammy didn't need to know that he'd barely slept the past four days. Haunted by vivid nightmares, he got up every night as Sam started to snore and took a bottle out to the car where he could get dead drunk in some relative peace, his music and whiskey pounding out his thoughts. He then stumbled into the room again, drunk, where he passed out on the bed for an hour or two. In the morning, Sam never knew his brother hadn't slept (although he must have been noticing the extra empty bottles.)

For now, at the thought of pizza, Dean shoved himself off the bed and staggered to the table with his eyes closed. He plopped into one of the chairs, pulled a bottle out of a duffle bag at his feet, and started gulping it down. He ignored Sam's concerned frown. Finally he looked up and rolled his eyes.

"What?" he said.

"Dean…" Sam sighed and shook his head. "Nothing." He pulled out his phone to order the pizza. Dean was too tired to argue with him.

A few hours, a large pepperoni and half a bottle later, Sam said he was going to bed.

"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean said. Sam didn't move, but sat across from Dean, watching him drink.

"You going to bed soon?" he asked.

"What, are you putting me on curfew now?"

"No, Dean," Sam said with a frustrated sigh. "Something's wrong and you're not telling me."

"Something's always wrong, Sammy. It comes in the job description."

"But you could just talk to me about it…"

"Go to bed, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. He pulled off his shirt as he rolled into bed. Dean stared at his half empty bottle and took a gulp, closing his eyes against the long night ahead.

* * *

_He was alone. He could see through the darkness around him, although he quickly decided he didn't want to. He stood on a flat plain, surrounded by victims of the Croatoan virus: he could see it in their aggression, their zombie walk. Somehow he could also see their true, twisted, demon-like faces. He glanced down at the knife in his hand, shrugged, and attacked._

_He slaughtered dozens of them. Glancing around at the carcasses, he looked up at the horizon, searching for something he couldn't name…_

"_Dean."_

_He turned around and saw Sam._

_His brother's eyes were black._

_Sam took two long steps and picked Dean off the ground, one-handed, by the neck. Dean fought to breathe as he stared at his once-brother. With tears pouring down his face, Dean shoved the blade in his hand through his brother's neck. The black eyes closed._

* * *

Dean woke up with a start; he took a deep, shaky breath and rolled over. The empty bottle was on the nightstand and he was in bed, on top of the sheets, although he couldn't remember getting there. He looked for the motivation to stand.

Sam walked in from the bathroom, wiping his neck with a towel. Dean shoved himself off the mattress.

"You look like hell," Sam said as he watched.

"Thanks."

He walked past Sam into the bathroom and closed the door. Looking into the mirror, he saw that he _did_ look like hell. He washed his face and hair, trying to make himself look a little better, but it didn't work. He walked back out, changed his shirt, and started tossing his things into his duffel bag so that they could leave…

"Dean."

He tried to ignore Sam as he zipped up the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

"Dean," Sam said again. Dean turned and started toward the door.

"I don't want to hear it, Sammy," he said.

Dean walked out, threw his stuff in the trunk and got into the driver's seat before Sammy had come outside. After he got in the car, they drove off in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Trigger warning: implied self harm, rape threat.**

* * *

Days passed while they hunted a shifter in Indiana. The nights passed with drinking and terrifyingly vivid nightmares, different each night. Dean's temper and conversation became shorter. More than once while the brothers were out, Sam would say Dean's name and Dean turned on him with a knife. Every time, he lowered it and walked away without a word.

Before Sam went to bed, the evenings were mostly filled with awkward silence. Dean aggressively didn't want to talk about what was wrong, and Sam couldn't change his mind no matter how much they argued, and so Sam gave up trying.

That was until the night Dean couldn't wake up.

* * *

_He was tied to a chair in the back room of an abandoned factory. That was nothing new. It was silent around him, without wind or water dripping. He was alone._

_Then he heard the door open behind him and his breathing got faster. He couldn't turn to see what had entered, but slowly it walked to where he could see it in the dim light: it was Sam. Dean didn't relax. Something was wrong. Sure enough, he watched as the thing in front of him smiled and started tugging at its skin, which fell to the floor in chunks. Dean winced and looked away. After a minute he felt a hand lift his chin, and he was forced to look into his own green eyes._

_"Shifter," he muttered._

_"No," the thing said. "I'm you, Dean."_

_"Go fuck yourself."_

_"Well, I could do that if you really wanted it, Dean," it said with a laugh. Dean tried to yank his face away from the thing as it leaned closer, and he saw a flicker of something through the half-open door._

_"Come on, Dean," the shifter yelled. It let go of his face and pulled out a knife. "Let's have some fun, huh?" Dean wasn't afraid of it, much. There was something else in the shadows, behind the door, and his gut told him to be much more afraid of whatever that was._

_The shifter yanked his arm and pulled the blade across it deeply, one, two, three times. Dean gasped but didn't scream. The shift leaned over to get in his face again._

_"I know," it said quietly. "I know you, Dean. It's so hard to torture you, when you're so good at torturing yourself. Would it help if I cut your hips instead, just like you do? What's a few extra scars? Would it help if I bent you over a table and ripped you apart from the inside? Would you scream then?"_

_Dean shut his eyes and tried to block out what the shifter was saying. Blood was still flowing from his arm, and his consciousness started to drift…_

_The shifter shoved the knife into his shoulder. Dean screamed then._

_"Pay attention, Dean!" it yelled._

_But he was so close to passing out and he was so tired… The knife went in again and he screamed, his body lurching…_

* * *

It wasn't his own voice but Sam's calling his name, no rope tying him to a chair but Sam's arms holding him. He wasn't bleeding but his body shook with tension and sweat. Sam rocked him back and forth, humming tunelessly, as Dean tried to gain control of himself again. After a few minutes he opened his eyes, pushed himself away and turned on the nightstand lamp.

"What was that, anyway?" he asked hoarsely. Sam looked down at his hands.

"You wouldn't wake up, Dean," he said. "You were convulsing, and you screamed a few times, and I tried shaking you and calling your name but you couldn't wake up. I didn't know what to do."

Dean ran his hands through his hair and looked over at the bottle on the nightstand. It was empty.

"Don't you think it's about time we talked about this?" Sam asked. Dean looked back to his little brother's face, frowning in concern, and he sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Trigger warning: rape and parental abuse, only briefly mentioned**

* * *

Dean sat fidgeting at the table while he waited for Sam to sit down. The clock said it was 4:30 in the morning. As Sam put a steaming mug in front of him and sat down across the table, Dean leaned over and sniffed.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's tea," Sam replied.

"What? No. No, I don't drink your… your wimpy leaf juice."

"Dean."

"What?"

"It'll help you relax. Please."

One look at Sam's puppy eyes and Dean gave in. He took a sip, and while he wanted to gag, he found out Sam was right: it was relaxing.

"So," Sam said. "What's going on?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"What, are we going to talk about our feelings now? It was a nightmare, Sam."

"But it was different."

"To hell with that. We both get plenty of nightmares."

"Not like that one. Will you stop lying, Dean, and stop being so defensive about your problems all the time? Please?"

Dean sighed and closed his eyes.

"Look, I don't do this whole caring and sharing thing," he said. He paused long enough to make Sammy think that the conversation might be over.

"But I'm scared," Dean said finally. He opened his eyes and looked right at Sammy. "Ok? I said it. I'm _really_ scared, because I don't know what's going on."

"Can you tell me about it?" Sam asked gently. Dean gulped down some tea and closed his eyes again, running his hands through his hair.

"Ok," he said. "I've never gotten dreams like this before. Like, usually I can drink, and then fall asleep, and that takes care of it. But that's not working, and I don't know why, they're all so vivid and real…"

"What are they about?"

"They're always different. One was about Croatoan, one was about, uh…" He glanced at the floor as he stammered, stumbling in his mind around the worst dreams that he wasn't at all willing to share. The ones about rape, or drunken beatings from his father, or trips as a teen (and adult) to bars even shadier than usual and what happened to him in the back rooms there… He shook his head slightly. "Um. That last one was about a shifter."

"A shifter?" Sam said. "Was there anything different about it?"

"No, nothing," Dean said. Sam nodded, watching his brother carefully but not saying a word.

"There was… there's always something," Dean said after a minute. "There's always something I'm looking for, and I can't find it, but I know it's there. Over the horizon, or around a corner, behind the door. But I never see it."

Sam frowned.

"Ok, that's something. Is it in every nightmare?"

"Yeah, I think so. As much as I can remember. What's your point?"

"Well, something's got to be causing this," Sam said, as he stood up and put his mug in the sink. "And I figure if we can find out what it is, maybe we can make it go away."

He looked out through the window blinds. "The sun's just rising. Why not finish your tea and grab a couple hours before we start out today?"

"Nah, I'm good, Sammy…"

"Dean. Don't argue."

Dean looked up at his brother and sighed. He didn't say anything else, but just drank the end of the tea before crawling back into bed. As he drifted off, he thought he heard Sammy say quietly, "Don't worry, brother. I'll look out for you…"

It was the first dreamless sleep Dean had in weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Trigger warning: disturbing harmful image, possible self harm/suicide trigger**

* * *

Dean rolled over, blinking in the sunshine that came through the blinds, and checked the clock. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. He pushed himself off the edge of the bed before he noticed Sam sitting at the table.

"What the hell, man?" he said. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

Sam glanced up from his laptop. "There's no hurry," he replied.

"Dammit, Sam."

"Shut up Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked over to get a piece of cold pizza from the fridge.

"I found us a case," Sam said. "Huntsville Alabama."

"Yeah? Let's get packed."

"Already done." Sam gestured toward the door where a pile of bags lay.

"Well, let's roll then," Dean said. It took them only a few minutes to pack the Impala and drive away.

By the time they got into Huntsville, it was far too late to start investigating. They booked a room and got Chinese takeout, both of them planting at the table in their room and researching on their laptops. They stayed there for hours until it was 11:30, and Sam stretched and said he was going to bed.

"You going to sleep soon?" he asked Dean.

"Yeah, soon."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Night, Sammy." Dean glanced at the time and opened another beer.

* * *

When Sam woke up at 3 in the morning, he saw Dean, wide eyed and watching some dumb soap opera on the tv. Dean noticed Sam as he rolled over and he sighed.

"I'm not gonna get away with not talking about it, am I," he said flatly. He yawned and muted the tv.

"What the hell, man," Sam said. "I thought you were going to sleep."

"I only need four hours."

"Dean. You're exhausted. Tell me what's going on."

"No, dammit, I don't want to bitch about my problems with you. Just go back to bed."

"Not going to happen."

"See, this. This is why I didn't want to tell you in the first place," Dean said, getting more irritated.

"What, so you could shut me out? Am I that annoying to you?"

"Hell no, Sam. But I knew you were going to get all therapist on me and try to fix this, when maybe there's nothing to fix. Maybe it's just me, and I just have to live with it, and I'm cool with that. But now you're going to worry about me all the time and it's gonna make it harder on both of us."

"You think I wasn't already worried, Dean?" Sam asked quietly. "I always worry about you. Shutting me out is never going to change that, but it is going to make it harder for me to help."

"You can't help."

"What?"

"You can't help, Sam, it's just the way things are. It's just the way I am. I'm broken. That's something no one can fix."

Sam shook his head. "Screw that," he said. He stood up and walked into the kitchen area, and Dean, thinking the conversation was over, unmuted the tv. After a few minutes Sam came back with a steaming mug in his hands; he shut off the tv and handed the mug to Dean.

"I think there's something more going on than just nightmares. But until I can figure that out, you still need to sleep. That should help," Sam said.

"It's more tea, isn't it." Dean sniffed and wrinkled his nose.

"Just trust me." Sam walked into the bathroom and closed the door, and Dean heard the shower start running. After the tea cooled down he drank it to the bottom of the mug, and sure enough he crawled over into his bed and fell deeply asleep.

That didn't stop the nightmares.

* * *

_Sam was standing in front of him in a motel room, his brother a young teen again, with that same innocent look he'd managed to hold onto for years despite the horrors of the world. Dean was drying his hands with a towel. Sam stepped forward, taking his hand… "Hey, Dean," he whispered. "You deserve this." He pulled out a pair of scissors from behind his back and sliced Dean's bare right arm from his inner elbow to his wrist, and the blood began pouring. Dean gasped. Sam just stared._

* * *

As Sam walked out of the bathroom, he smiled to see his brother asleep on the bed. He turned to go back, but something shimmered just outside his vision, and he shifted to look more directly at Dean outside the shine of the bathroom light. There was a silvery shimmer hanging in the air around Dean. Sam squinted and took a step closer, and suddenly it flickered into his vision clearly: a shimmering spirit with a nightmarish face was sitting on the bed next to his brother, stroking his hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Trigger warning: conversation about suicide/self harm**

* * *

Sam yanked a shotgun out of the bag on the floor and took a carefully aimed shot at the nightmare leaning over his brother. The salt round had no effect. He then pulled out a pure iron bar and spun to hit the spirit in the head, and as it flowed through the air the spirit lurched toward him, screaming, and dissipated.

Dean sat up gasping, eyes wide open. Sam dropped the bar on the floor and tried to approach him, but as he got closer Dean shrank away towards the wall. Sam backed away and sat on the other bed. As Dean's breathing slowed, he stared at the bar on the floor, then at Sam, and back at the bar. He seemed to lose himself somewhere behind his eyes as he stared.

"Dean?" Sam asked gently. Dean started and glanced up at him.

"Don't, Sam," he said. He grabbed the blanket crumpled at the bottom of the bed and pulled it over his shoulders, curling into a ball. He didn't look at Sam again.

Sam stood, walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer, thinking it was best to let Dean get some sleep instead of talking. He popped open the beer and took a sip, getting ready to do some research until Dean woke up, but then he heard a small sob. Quietly he walked back over to the beds. Dean was still facing the wall, but as Sam leaned over to check on him, he saw that his eyes were wide open. He was crying. Sam touched his shoulder and felt his body shuddering.

"Hey, hey," Sam said quietly as he sat next to Dean.

"You said I deserved it, Sammy," he said, his voice shaking. "How could you ever say that?"

"Dean. It was a dream. It wasn't me."

Dean just curled more tightly around himself and kept crying. Sam rubbed his shoulder, trying to calm him. It didn't seem to work.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Tell me what happened."

Dean's eyes went wide and he shook his head.

"I just want to help you…"

"No. I can't," Dean whispered.

"Please?"

Dean had nearly stopped crying now. He stared at the wall as a few tears traced down his scruffy face.

"You cut my arm," he said. "You said I deserved it."

"Dean, I'm sorry…"

"No, you don't understand." He took one long, shuddering breath. "You weren't just killing me, it was…" He closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lip. "It's my plan for killing myself."

Sam went very still. Dean started stumbling over his words.

"I only tried once," he said, "and you were just a kid, you thought I'd gone to the hospital for a hunting wound, but it wasn't, it was because Dad found me before I bled out and I think about doing it again every fucking day, but I don't because I remember Dad yelled at me when I got back because _what if Sammy found you instead of me_…"

Sam had closed his eyes and leaned over to awkwardly hug his brother.

"I can't ever do that to you, Sammy, I can't. But some days it's so fucking hard not to do it, and sometimes I just need to feel the pain."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, his voice muffled by the blanket.

"What I'm trying to say is, sometimes I hurt myself because I need to feel the pain to keep going."

Sam stayed silent, scared to think it might be over, because he had thought it couldn't get any worse and it had. He didn't know if he could take any more worse. By the time he felt he might be ready to talk again, he leaned over Dean's shoulder and saw that he was already asleep.

Sam stayed leaning against his brother for hours after, tears streaming down his face without a sound. He was surprised that Dean's wet shirt didn't wake him, but it dried by the time he woke up in the morning, and by then Sam was sitting across the room, drinking coffee.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry it wasn't longer AND ALSO THAT IT WAS SO PAINFUL. I didn't plan this amount of pain and angst and bleh. Sorry. I don't like it either. I'll try to pick up some of Dean's pieces by the end of the fic (but this is Dean, guys… he never really gets a happy ending, does he?)


	6. Chapter 6

**Trigger warning: description of self harm  
**A/N: if you don't want to read the part with the SH in it, don't finish the chapter. There's a break line after Dean slams the door, and you can stop there. The only other thing that happens is that he drives away from the motel. Stay safe my friends!

* * *

"It's called a mare," Sam said.

Dean sat up on the bed across the room. "What?"

"It's a mare. It's a German name for a spirit or maybe an elf that sits on someone's chest and gives them bad dreams. That's why they're called nightmares."

Dean stood up and walked over to the table where Sam sat with his laptop.

"And you think that's what's happening to me? Why?"

"I saw it," Sam said.

"You _saw_ it? And you didn't tell me?"

"I only saw it for the first time last night."

"You should've woke me up, Sam."

Sam looked up at Dean, who was standing over him and reading the open folklore pages on the laptop screen.

"Don't you remember last night?" he asked. Dean glanced down at him.

"You… you gave me some tea, and I fell asleep and had a nightmare. Why, was there something else?"

Sam shook his head and looked back at the laptop.

"No, nothing else," he said. Dean stared at him for a minute before refocusing on the laptop.

"So it's a mare," he said. "How do we kill it?"

"That's the bad news," Sam said. "I haven't been able to find anything on killing it. Lore says if you point the toes of your shoes toward your bed then it'll leave you alone, but that's about it."

"Well that's bull. There's gotta be a way for it to die."

Sam shrugged. "I'll keep digging."

"I'm counting on you, brother. So I'm gonna take a shower then we can go out on this job."

"You go ahead," Sam said. "Just a standard police run for now, you can handle it."

Dean paused. "You don't want to come?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'll stay here and research."

Dean shrugged. "If you say so," he said, heading into the bathroom.

Sam sighed, pushed away from the table and got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.

* * *

That night, after Dean had come back with burgers and fries and changed out of the cheap suit, he sat across from Sam at the table.

"So," he said, taking a large bite of his burger. He stared at Sam who took a sip of his soda.

"So," Sam said. "It looks like the mare is a fairy. Fairies don't like iron, which is why the iron bar worked on it and the rock salt didn't."

"I was going to tell you about the case, but as you don't seem interested…"

"Of course I'm interested, but I'm a bit more concerned about this at the moment, Dean."

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair, opening a beer while he listened.

"I still can't find anything on killing fairies. I think there might not be anything on it at all, people think fairies are cute little monsters. Also it seems that they're usually tied to a place they've been summoned to, and you can banish them, but this one's been following you around so that doesn't fit. I have a few ideas though and I think one of them might work. It's worth a shot."

He looked over at Dean. "What do you think?" he asked.

Dean shrugged and leaned forward onto the table. "Now, if we're going to talk about the actual case…"

"This is a case, Dean."

"I think it's an ordinary haunting. I want to do a little more checking on it, but we'll probably go grave digging tomorrow night."

"Why do you always shove aside your own problems?"

"People are dying here, Sam."

"And you're not going to be able to save them if you can't even sleep."

Suddenly Dean shoved himself away from the table and grabbed his keys, heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"I can't deal with this right now," he said flatly, before slamming the door behind him.

* * *

He sat outside in the Impala without turning it on. Leaning his forehead against the well-worn steering wheel, he stared down at the knife he held in his hands. It was always so easy to pick up a knife, now the same as it always had been, never having to hide any blades because there was the obvious explanation of why he had them. To protect Sammy, to kill monsters. No one had ever told him to try to kill the monsters inside of him, to protect Sammy from those parts of himself, but no one ever had to. He knew on his own, and he did what he had to do.

He wasn't usually that short-tempered with Sam. He just couldn't help it today. Without thinking any more about it, he slipped up his shirt and traced on his skin with the edge of the knife.

He had a higher pain tolerance than most people, but somehow giving himself pain was sharper than an attack from someone, or something, else. He gasped as the pain sliced into his brain, quickening his breath as though he was under attack. In a way he was. He quickly snapped shut the blade, shoved it into his shoe, and started the car. After taking a minute to slow down his breath, he drove away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Trigger warning: underage prostitution, brief mention of self harm**

* * *

_He was sixteen, wide-eyed, sitting on a bed in a dark motel room. Sammy was alone and hungry at another motel nearby and Dean was out of ideas for getting cash. It wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. It was the first time the guy had rented a room for it. Whatever he wanted out of Dean, he could take, as long as he'd be able to buy Sammy some food after. He'd listened to his brother cry himself to sleep from hunger and he wasn't going to do it again._

_The door opened and the guy walked in, stripping off his jacket and shirt as he slammed the door shut behind him. Without a word he walked over and shoved Dean onto the mattress, flat on his back, kissing him softly, running his hands through his hair… suddenly he slapped Dean, twice, hard. The ring on his hand cut Dean's cheek and blood flowed into his mouth. The man leaned over and licked at Dean's blood, making the cut sting, and fumbled with his zipper…_

* * *

Dean woke up, startled, staring at a ceiling he didn't recognize. He rolled over and saw the man from the night before. He sighed. He remembered bits of last night: finding a bar, sharing too many drinks with the young, hot guy now asleep next to him. On a better day Dean would have stayed and maybe bought him pancakes. As it was, he rolled out of bed quietly, rinsed his face and hair in the bathroom, found his clothes and scribbled a quick thank you note before heading out to the Impala. He didn't leave his number.

He drove quickly back to the motel where he had left Sam and went inside. The door was unlocked and Sam was in the kitchen, cooking on the stove. As he turned and glanced at Dean, he poured the eggs and bacon from the pan onto a plate and motioned toward Dean; he picked it up and set it on the table. Sam poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from him.

"So," Sam said, "are you ok?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked with a mouthful of food.

"Well you left suddenly last night, and I just want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine, Sam."

Sam sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He knew better than to ask where Dean had been.

"Did you have any nightmares?" he asked instead. Dean frowned at him.

"Yeah, one. Nothing special."

Dean quickly finished his breakfast and got up to rinse his plate in the sink.

"So, we'll dig up that grave tonight and take care of the haunting. You looked for another case after this?" he said. Sam just shook his head.

"Well we can do that till nightfall. I'm gonna take a shower first."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"You told me about your self injury the other night."

Dean paused on his way to the bathroom. He didn't look back at Sam.

"I don't want to make you talk about it, unless you want to. I just want to tell you that I understand, and I want you to tell me if you… I just want you to tell me from now on. Ok?"

Neither of them moved, Dean standing in the middle of the floor, and Sam staring at his back, waiting for him to say something.

"Please, Dean?"

"Fine," he said sharply. He walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Turning on the fan, he sunk to the floor with his back to the door, shaking. He tried to even out his breath as he began to sob.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day on their laptops without talking, digging around for leads. They didn't find anything near them except one or two college disappearances and a killer gator. That night after the sun set, they went out for burgers before driving to the cemetery.

The burning went by without a disturbance, but when they got back to the motel, Dean stopped in the middle of the parking lot without parking.

"Get out, Sam," he said.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Dean said, without looking at him. Sam sighed.

"I'm just worried about you," he said.

"I know. It's ok, Sam."

"I had an idea, though, about the mare. We could try it tonight…"

"I'll be back before I fall asleep," Dean said gently. Sam nodded and pulled his bag out of the back of the car before getting out.

"Don't get too drunk," he said, leaning in the window. Dean waved him off and drove away.

* * *

He came back too drunk. He was staggering, and giggling as he walked into the door jamb, and he collapsed on the bed.

"Splaghaletti," he said, and laughed. Sam walked over, pulled the shoes and jacket off of him and tossed them on the floor.

"Go to sleep, Dean," he said after pulling a blanket over him.

"K, Sammy," he said.

Sam sat down on the other bed with a bowl full of oil and herbs and waited.

It took an hour or two of sitting in the dark before Sam saw the mare appear beside the bed across from him. Before it sat next to his brother, he carefully stood up and walked around the creature, trying not to alert it; as it started to sit, he tossed the oil from the bowl over it and followed it with a lit lighter. The oil combusted. The mare spun around and hissed at him as the flame died, and then it disappeared. Sam stomped on the floor, where the edge of the rug had caught fire.

"Sammy?"

Sam turned to see Dean leaning up on the bed, watching him.

"Did it work?" he asked quietly. Sam just shook his head and watched the disappointment come over Dean's face. Dean rolled over and fell quickly back to sleep, and Sam stood in the middle of the room, staring at the burn mark on the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

"We need an idea," Dean said. The two were sitting across from each other at a diner booth, both with laptops pulled out and platters of eggs and bacon in front of them. Dean took a gulp of hot black coffee. Sam didn't reply.

"Hey, space man. You hear me?" Dean waved his hand around to get Sam's attention, who glanced up from his screen with a glare.

"Look, I'm sorry. But I don't know what to do, ok?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry. My idea didn't work, and I don't have any more."

Dean frowned. "Are you talking about last night? Hey, it doesn't matter. I barely even remember what happened. I'm talking about a lead, you got anything?"

Sam shook his head.

"A weird animal attack over in Louisana, but it doesn't look like much."

Dean slammed shut his laptop and shoved some eggs in his mouth.

"Let's go," he said. He picked up his stuff, dropped a few twenties on the table, and walked towards the door. He didn't look back to see if Sam would follow.

* * *

The brothers pulled into Jean Lafitte, Louisiana, about six hours later. Dean parked in the parking lot of a small sketchy motel near the edge of town. The trees of the bayou surrounded the area; they both could smell the swamp as they got out of the car into still sweltering heat.

They got a room for the week under the surname Bartholomew. As they walked in, Sam switched on the window air conditioner and Dean decidedly fell onto one of the beds.

"First thing we should hit the morgue," Sam said, dropping his duffel on a chair.

"It's too late," Dean replied.

"They're probably open, and it'll be quiet. It's better we're not interrupted anyway."

Dean sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Fine. Put on the monkey suit," he said.

When Sam came out of the bathroom, he saw Dean asleep where he had plopped on the bed. He smiled a little, gently picked Dean's pocket for the Impala keys, and after writing him a note he left for the morgue.

* * *

Dean woke up in a sweat. He looked at Sam, who had his laptop open on the table and glanced over as his brother sat up shakily.

"You ok?" Sam asked tentatively. Dean waved his concerns away but stumbled as he tried to stand. He clutched the edge of the bed, and Sam half rose out of his chair to help, but Dean pushed himself upright and walked slowly into the other room. He closed the door behind him and sank to the floor.

After taking a few minutes to calm down, he opened the door and went to sit at the table with Sam. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge on his way over.

"So I guess I didn't make it to the morgue," he said groggily.

"Other than you look like you're on your way there, no," Sam muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What'd you find?"

"The body was pretty deteriorated; it floated in the water for several days. Funnily enough, they only found it because an alligator dragged the remains into someone's backyard. What's left is barely recognizable, but the body's neck had a clear bite mark that's unidentifiable. It's not a vamp, not a werewolf, no known animal down here. I got some pictures through the mortician's assistant." Sam spun around his laptop so that Dean could look through the pictures.

"Huh," he said.

"Yeah. I've done a little research, and the only thing I've found is the Honey Island Swamp Monster. It's an old Bigfoot type legend."

"Literal Bigfoot?"

"It's probably shit, but it's the only thing I've got right now."

"Well, let's go find some locals and mingle," Dean said, pushing up from the table.

"You just want a drink," Sam said, half a smile on his face. Dean shrugged.

"Yeah. So?"

Sam shook his head as Dean grabbed his jacket and his keys.

"Let's go mingle," he said, standing by the door. Sam shut his laptop and walked out, Dean following. Before he closed the door behind him, he felt a gentle chill breeze float past him, which sent shivers up his neck. He glanced back into the room, looking for anything that might have caused it. Nothing was there.

"Dean. You coming?" Sam called. Dean shook his head to clear it and shut the door.

* * *

The two of them found a parking spot on Main Street and got out of the Impala. There were two or three bars on the street, and the two walked down the sidewalk, bordered by dark wooden buildings. The sun had begun to sink behind the trees and it left the town in an eerie orange light.

Next to one of the bars, there was a small shop of curiosities. As they walked by, Sam stopped suddenly, staring at the store. Dean paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"Hey, you coming?" he asked. Sam didn't reply but went into the shop, the screen door slamming behind him. Dean sighed and followed him.

It was dark inside, the only light coming from a lamp on the counter and the sun filtering through the screen. The brothers looked around the shop, which was crowded with a jumble of curios, such as candles and teacups and key chains. Dean found a corner of mainstream occult objects which he glanced over while Sam checked something out at the register. When he was finished, they walked back outside together, Sam holding a gift bag in one hand.

"What, you turning into a housewife now?" Dean asked as they got outside.

Sam didn't answer but just walked back towards the car. He opened the passenger door, tossed the bag onto the seat, and lifted out a small dreamcatcher. Dean frowned at him.

"Really?" he scoffed.

"What? It has a flawless lore of keeping nightmares away. With a little enhancement, we have a shot at making it fairy-proof. Even if we can't catch the thing, we can try to hold it back for awhile."

"It's superstitious bullshit."

"But don't you think it's worth a try?" Sam asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But if I catch you buying a rabbit's foot, I'll burn it."

Sam shrugged, slammed the door of the Impala shut, and the two of them walked back to the bar.

* * *

A/N: I AM SO SORRY I HAVE BEEN GONE SO LONG. I promise I'll try to post again more often. First my old laptop got water spilled all over it and then I got a job that requires waking up at 4am and I just let this story slip by... But I love it and I'm going to finish it. And I'll post other stories soon too. So so sorry, but I'm glad to be back.


	9. Chapter 9

At the bar, Dean met some curvy blonde at a corner table, while Sam went digging for information. Drunken locals always liked to talk to anyone who was interested. They always exaggerated the local legends, too, which complicated things, but Sam was used to it. He'd work through that later.

There was a legend similar to a wendigo, some old hunter who turned crazy cannibal in the swamps. Some thought it wasn't a monster but a giant alligator. The last, the strangest, and thus the most noteworthy of the legends Sam heard that night, he heard as the bartender was putting away the bottles and turning off the lights.

He heard it from a woman who had sat at the bar all night, with blonde hair pulled back and a thick flannel jacket, drinking as well as any man there. As the crowd dwindled, he gradually sidled down the bar closer to her. At the end, she finally spoke to him, as the last man he had talked to walked out the door. She looked straight at Sam with dark brown eyes.

"They're all lyin' to you," she said.

"Really? Why?" he asked.

"Because they don't know any better. But I could tell you the real story if you wanted to hear." She tapped on her glass and the bartender poured some whiskey into it before putting the bottle away.

"It wasn't a man, like they say. Sexist bullshit. It was a woman."

"How did it happen?"

"She was always kind of a wild one, running off, gave her folks a couple of good scares when she left for days into the swamps. Some people in the town thought she had some boyfriend she was banging and didn't want anyone knowing. Some people thought she was a witch. Maybe they were right. A couple hunters spied her out in the bayou, ass naked and screaming like a wild animal into the night." She drank the whiskey. "One night as she went to bed, her ma sensed something different and followed her out when she left the house. In the middle of the woods, she pulled out a dagger and slit her arms to the elbows. Her ma said she drank the blood as it poured over her, but she wasn't weakened by it. Instead she transformed into something… not human, anymore. Her ma ran away and never saw her again, but that's when bodies started showing up, every few years, stripped of all the meat and the bones gnawed at."

"How do you know about this?"

"She was my aunt. I have my granny's diaries."

"Could I see them?" Sam asked.

"Why?"

"History buff," he said, shrugging. The woman sighed.

"Sure, no harm I guess. Too late for you tonight?"

Sam stood up and glanced around. He sighed; Dean and the blonde had disappeared.

"No, I've got time," he said. "What's your name?"

"Rachel. We gotta go to my house if you want to see them."

Sam nodded. They left the bar without another word, the door locked after them, and he drove them to her house.

* * *

The sun had started to rise as Sam got back to the motel and crawled into bed. He had been asleep for an hour or more when he started awake, hearing Dean come into the room. He sat on the edge of his own bed, running his hands through his hair, and Sam rolled over.

"Have a good night?" he asked. Dean's shoulders started to tremble.

"Hey," Sam said, pushing himself up. "What's the matter?"

Dean just shook his head. Sam reached towards him but he pulled away, letting the sobs come out loudly.

"More nightmares?" Sam asked, quieter this time. Dean could only nod his head. Sam waited until his crying had calmed for awhile before trying to talk to him again.

"We can try the dream catcher," he said.

"It won't work, Sam. It's mainstream hippie bull." It calmed his breathing to talk, and he rubbed his hands over his face.

"We're gonna try it. We'll toss some iron into it and see how it works."

Dean sighed. "Fine."

Sam got out of bed and got the dream catcher from the table. He pulled some strips of iron, wire and wire cutters out of his bag and dropped them onto the bed; Dean got up and started pacing as Sam worked on the dream catcher.

"If we make it work right we might be able to keep it away indefinitely. That would help, right?" he asked.

"Sure," Dean said, pulling a beer out of the fridge.

"You should try to get some more sleep today. It'll give us a chance to test it out."

"Ok, Sammy."

He finished twisting the wire around the catcher, and finally he tied a few bells to hang from the bottom.

"Why bells?" Dean asked.

"It's a thing for chasing away spirits. Mostly witchy, but it might help."

Dean shrugged and drained the beer bottle, tossing it into the kitchen. When he turned back around, he saw Sam watching him from the bed.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam said. "Why don't you crash, and we'll try it out?"

Dean didn't reply and just fell onto his bed. Sam stood up and tried to wrap the string around the bed post, so that the catcher was as hidden as he could make it. He stood looking at it for a minute or so, until Dean spoke up.

"What, are you gonna sing a lullaby over me or something?"

Sam shook his head and walked into the bathroom. He took a quick shower, thinking about a quick jog outside before the heat hit, but when he came out again, he saw Dean asleep and the spirit from before, tangled and fighting against the catcher above his head.


End file.
